


Mirrored

by VeriteSuiGeneris



Category: Schitt's Creek
Genre: Fluff, Healthy Relationships, M/M, Role Reversal, SO MUCH FLUFF
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2020-09-07
Packaged: 2020-10-26 13:10:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20742743
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VeriteSuiGeneris/pseuds/VeriteSuiGeneris
Summary: Some of the big moments in David and Patrick's relationship, explored a little differently.





	1. First Kiss

So, okay, maybe asking your business partner out to dinner after he tells you his whole family forgot his birthday wasn’t the boldest move. Maybe it was just innocuous enough that David had missed the implication. Patrick has even toyed with the idea that the protocol is different when it’s another guy, but even he knows he’s grasping at straws with that one. 

Stevie had picked up on it, if her almost immediate departure after a non-excuse were any indication. 

Patrick finally concedes that there are only two possibilities: either David really is that dense or he’s pretending not to know because he isn’t interested. 

Judging by how quiet and awkward he’s been all day, Patrick is pretty sure it’s the latter, which… Rejection doesn’t feel great, no matter how subtle. To be fair, David’s mother also let slip that someone died in the Motel last night, and maybe it has something to do with that, but Patrick doubts it. He’ll be okay though. He can be fine with having just this. He _ likes _ having David as a business partner. Even if David, in all his infinite wisdom, put their best selling lip balms all the way on the top shelf in the back. 

He keeps meaning to get a stepstool for the store, because when David ordered the stock shelves, he didn’t factor in the fact that he’s a couple inches taller than Patrick. The reason he hasn’t yet. Well… “Here,” David crowds into his space, putting a hand on his shoulder while he stretches up to reach the box. This close, he smells like expensive cologne, which just that hint of cedar that means today’s sweater is cashmere. God, how embarrassing is it that Patrick can tell that? He’s pretty sure that David would run and never look back if he had any idea how closely Patrick has observed him. 

Except. 

Well, yesterday, when Patrick had dropped him off, there had been a moment when he was sure that something was going to happen. Where David looked at Patrick in the way that he wanted to be looked at. But then David had unbuckled his seatbelt and the moment was gone. He’d paused with his hand on the door handle and said, “I am, you know. Glad that you invested in the Apothecary. Thank you for dinner.” And Patrick had let him go. 

David steps back and Patrick misses the warmth of him up close. “Thanks.” He takes the box, but David doesn’t make any move to step out of his way.

“So, um, I’m gonna stay at Stevie’s tonight,” David says, apropos of nothing. “Because of that whole dead body situation.” 

“Oh.” Patrick’s not sure where this is going. “Well, have fun.” 

“Yeah,” David says, and moves far enough away for Patrick to step by him to refill the lip balms by the cash. David follows him out of the back, stepping around the counter to straighten the moisturizers. “You know, speaking of Stevie. Sorry she ran out so fast at dinner yesterday.” 

As much as Patrick likes Stevie, he doesn’t share the sentiment. “It’s no big deal.” 

“Well, it’s actually funny.” David moves on to the bath salts on the other side of the store, tension in every line of his body. “You’re gonna laugh. See, ‘cause she left ‘cause she um… _ she _ thought it was… a date...” Patrick doesn’t laugh. David does, but it’s not anywhere near convincing.

Patrick sets the box of lip balms on the counter, watching the way a pink flush spreads all the way up the back of David’s neck to his ears, the way his shoulders are hunched around his neck like he’s expecting a blow. “Huh,” he says, and steps around the counter. David has this ability to throw out details about his past relationships like he’s talking about the weather or something, but David also makes a job out of irreverence, so maybe they've done more damage than he lets on. He’s so unapologetically the person that he is that Patrick forgets sometimes exactly how self conscious David can be. 

David is still very carefully turned away from him.. “Yeah. So…. that.” 

“David, look at me.” Patrick says, and David jumps, not having noticed his approach. 

He’s picking at his nails. He always does it when he’s uncomfortable, not that Patrick needs the extra tell. David has the most expressive face Patrick has ever seen. Immediately, he starts talking, “I mean, obviously I told her that wasn’t a thing, but just in case you were wondering why she- Um…” He trails off when Patrick steps closer, crowding him. Patrick watches as his tongue darts out to wet his lips. “I’m starting to think that maybe I… misread something?” 

Hope flickers across David’s face, tenuous and fragile as glass and it banishes any lingering nerves that Patrick has. “I think maybe you did,” he agrees, and leans in to kiss him. It’s sweet and chaste, and David’s hand comes up to wrap around the side of Patrick’s neck like he wants to keep him there, and no kiss has ever felt like this. For all that it’s just a simple press of his mouth to David’s, it is a revelation. 

He’s liked David from the start, from the moment David served him up the word salad that would eventually grow to become Rose Apothecary. He liked that David left him seven rambling voicemails within a day of meeting him. He liked seeing David insult the frame he picked out and bicker with his sister, who Patrick _ also _ likes, but thinks came on a little too strong. He likes that David wears ridiculous sweaters like it’s nothing, and that he has a best friend who teases him mercilessly and David gives as good as he gets. Those things he all knew. 

What he _ didn’t _ know - or at least wasn’t sure of - is that he likes that David is taller than him, and that his stubble scrapes against his skin when they kiss. He puts his hands on David’s waist and it isn’t narrow or feminine, and he likes that too. 

When they break the kiss, David is smiling in a way that looks like he’s trying his hardest not to, like he’s not sure he’s allowed to. “Um. So, I _ definitely _ think I misread something.” 

“Yeah,” Patrick agrees, a little breathless, a little scared. “Yeah, I think I’ve been misreading something for a long time now.” 

David’s head tilts. “What do you mean?” 

“I’ve… never done that before. With a guy,” Patrick confesses. 

David looks apprehensive. “Okay.” 

“And I was just… starting to get a little scared that that was never going to happen with us. So.” 

“Um. Me too,” David says. His phone chimes in his pocket and he winces. “That’s probably Stevie. I’ve noticed that her timing is awful.” 

“Well, I’d hate to keep Stevie waiting,” Patrick chuckles. “Can we talk tomorrow?” 

David smiles. “We can talk whenever you’d like. Just preferably not before 10 am because I’m not really a morning person?” 

“Mmm,” Patrick agrees. “I’ll lock up. Goodnight David.” 

“Goodnight Patrick.” 


	2. Boyfriend

David stops by the office before he leaves, a knot of jumpy tension in his stomach. Stevie is behind the desk. She’s in the middle of composing a text and doesn’t look up from her phone. “Your customer service is, as always, astounding.” 

“Customers pay to stay in rooms. I don’t think you qualify for service,” Stevie says, not even pausing in her typing. She only lasts another moment before she cracks. “Not even on your two month anniversary.” 

David groans, tilting his head back to pray to the ceiling for patience. “He didn’t.” 

She deposits a massive cupcake on the counter, looking gleeful. “Oh, he did. It’s heartwarming.” She only just holds back her laughter. 

“It’s ridiculous,” David argues, ignoring the stutter of his heart, which is indeed warmed. He looks at the cupcake like it’s offensive. It’s in a small container with no label, but it’s a mocha cupcake with espresso buttercream frosting and caramel drizzle. He knows because he ate three of them when he and Patrick visited the little bakery in Elmdale. “I don’t need this.” 

Stevie shrugs and picks up the cupcake. “I guess I’ll throw it away” 

David is quick to rescue it from her hands. “I was talking about the fanfare,” he sniffs, and very pointedly ignores the amusement on her face as he leaves. He plucks the chocolate covered espresso bean from the top of the cupcake and chews on it thoughtfully as he heads into town. Patrick has offered on multiple occasions to come and pick him up in the mornings, but nowhere in Schitt’s Creek is really outside of walking distance. Plus that would mean that he has to get up even earlier. As much as he doesn’t love the outdoors, he’s getting used to getting up early and walking to work. 

He’s getting used to a lot of things these days. David eats the cupcake as he walks. It’s every bit as good as he remembers, and this time he gets to enjoy it without worrying about Patrick watching him inhale it. His eating habits have gone steadily downhill since moving here. You’d think there’d be a farmer’s market or something, but there’s just the cafe with it’s mildly edible cuisine and a few restaurants in Elmdale that just barely qualify as pretty decent. And the bakery, but David knows better than to visit too often. He's a slave to his sweet tooth, and the ‘gym’ in this town is laughable. He’s already gained ten pounds since moving here. He dreads the day Alexis notices. 

Things were different when he was living in New York. He’d had a personal trainer, Rebecca. To be fair, that had only been until they slept together and David had woken up the next morning to an empty bed. That had put an end to that. Then had been Nick, a crossfit trainer who had been recommended to him at a party by Ariana Grande. They’d ended up making out in the locker room like a couple of teenagers and things had gotten off to a great start until Nick’s girlfriend showed up at the gym one day for lunch. 

David licks frosting from his fingertips. This thing with Patrick feels different, but David has learned the hard way not to throw himself heart-first into a relationship. Particularly not with someone fresh out of the closet. The day is coming that Patrick will realize that there’s a whole world of experience out there that he hasn’t explored, and all that will stand in his way will be David. 

So no, David doesn’t want a monthly anniversary gift. He doesn’t want there to be flowers or pastries or anything waiting for him behind the front desk of the Motel because one day there won’t be, and he doesn’t want to get used to it. 

“Was the cupcake that bad?” Patrick asks when he gets to the Apothecary. 

“What?” 

“You look like something’s bothering you.” Patrick crosses the floor to kiss him, sweet and easy as breathing. 

It’s definitely too early for David to unleash all of his crazy on Patrick, so he says, “It was delicious, thank you. But it was  _ also _ completely unnecessary. I don’t need a cupcake every month.” 

Patrick returns to the shelf he was restocking, frowning mock thoughtfully. “Well, I considered doing jewelry, but I thought it might be too early.”

“You should do nothing,” David’s voice comes out snappier than he means it to. 

Patrick looks up, all joking gone from his face. “You okay?”

“I just think that it doesn’t have to be a monthly thing. In a year, if you haven’t - if we’re still together, we can make a big deal out of it then like everybody else.” 

Patrick grabs him gently by his shoulders, studying him with that intent focus he has. Usually it makes David feel seen. Today it just makes him squirm. “If I haven’t what?” Patrick asks, too perceptive. 

David knows that he’s not going to let this go. He searches for the right phrase, because he almost said ‘if you haven’t left me,’ which is too melodramatic and will only result in a bunch of platitudes that he can’t handle right now. Finally, he settles on,“Moved on.” 

Patrick raises his eyebrows. “I’m not sure how you got to that resolution from a cupcake, but it seems like a bit of a stretch.” He smiles, gently teasing. 

David doesn’t want to be teased right now. He rolls his eyes and pulls away from Patrick’s grip. “Be realistic. I’m the first guy you’ve ever dated. It’s like staying with your high school sweetheart. How often does that happen?”

“You might be surprised.” 

“Okay, fine. Maybe sometimes,” David says, “but that’s the exception rather than the rule.” 

“Good to know you’re already planning our breakup,” Patrick snaps. 

“I’m not!” David protests. God, this is not how he wanted this conversation to go. “I’m just-”

The bell on the door rings behind him and Patrick holds up a hand, cutting him off. “Later,” he says, and goes to help their customer. 

Except  _ later _ turns into a steady flow of customers. Patrick seems determined to help each and every one of them, which leaves David with nothing to do but run the register and and think. 

And thinking rarely goes well for him. 

For all that Patrick is as friendly and funny and polite as ever, David can see the tension in the tight set of his shoulders and the way his hands are stuffed into his pockets. He doesn’t know how to explain this: how he never expected to have Patrick in the first place, how he knows that one day Patrick is going to realize that he deserves better than David, with his myriad insecurities and anxieties. He’s never had something that felt so stable and healthy, and he knows that Patrick will break his heart and David wants nothing more than to let him do it, even though he’s certain that something in him will be inexorably changed, after. 

He wants to pretend this fight never happened, but while David is a master at pretending everything is okay, Patrick is not, so when the store dies down around lunchtime, he sucks in a deep breath and says, “I’ve fucked straight guys before.” 

Patrick is sweeping, and he goes still, broom in hand. Not looking at David, he says, “I’m not-” 

“I know,” David interrupts, because if he lets Patrick speak, he won’t get this out. “I know, Patrick, but what I mean is that I’ve been people’s dirty little secret. I’ve been the guy you share with your girlfriend for the thrill of it. I’ve been the guy you fuck  _ before _ you come out, and if you’re not ready yet, I’ve been the guy you fuck and tell yourself it’s just to see what it’s like. “ He focuses on the lip balms, making sure they’re lined up in neat rows and the labels are turned outwards. Anything to avoid looking at Patrick. “Sometimes it was just sex, and I was fine with that. Clear, simple rules, easy expectations to meet. It’s fun and I’m good at it. I knew what I was bringing to those relationships. But when it was someone that… that I really liked, it was harder. I’m… not great with blurry lines.” 

Patrick is closer. He doesn’t even have to look up to know it. David has somehow built in a Patrick proximity alert. He presses on, determined to finish this thought. “I’m not… I don’t  _ want _ to break up or anything. I’m just… managing expectations. That’s all.”

“Is it my turn now?” Patrick asks. David nods and dares a glance at him. Patrick is standing with his palms braced on the counter, watching him with an annoyed kind of patience. “Okay. First, I want to say that listening to your boyfriend compare you to all of his exes doesn’t feel great.” 

The spiral of thoughts that has been steadily trying to swallow David for the last two hours stops, and everything goes quiet in his head. Boyfriend. Like a real, recognized relationship, with exclusivity. Patrick is his boyfriend. Patrick thinks of  _ him _ as his boyfriend.  _ Boyfriend. _

“Yeah, David, you’re my boyfriend.” Patrick leans in and David realizes that he said that last bit out loud. Patrick covers David’s hands with his own, trapping him in his gaze. “I get that you’re gun-shy about relationships. I know your history, but do you think you could maybe try not to push me out the door?” 

David doesn’t have words for the feeling that swells in him, but it’s too much, too big to contain. He looks away, twisting his mouth all the way to the side in an attempt to control the smile that’s trying to break free of him. Patrick twines their fingers together, running his thumb along David’s palm. “Yeah,” he finally gets out. “I think I can manage that.” 

“Thank you.” Patrick stretches across the counter to kiss him. “And David? I’m in this, so I’m gonna give you another cupcake next month, and then maybe a cookie for the month after that.” 

“You don’t have to.” David says, but there’s no anger in it this time, no insecurity pulling at the edges of him. “I don’t need anything.” 

“I know, but you get so flustered. It’s cute.” Patrick kisses him again, “and maybe a little bit funny.” 

Exactly a month later, there is a cupcake waiting for him on the counter by the cash, and David rolls his eyes and Patrick smiles. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter did not want to be written. I struggled A LOT with getting the voices right and finding a way for it to happen organically. I'm still not sure that I'm happy with it. 
> 
> Now I need opinions: We all know that the next big moments in their relationship are Simply The Best and the break up, and I have some ideas for both of those, but I'm not sure that they will work in an organic way. The whole idea in this is that I want them to be able to plausibly happen while fitting them into the world of the story, so I'm going to make a coda fic for those where I try to make it work. We'll see how that goes. If they're good, I may just add them into this one, but I want to test those waters first. The next chapter, then, will be the first "I Love You." and I've known from the beginning how that will go.


	3. Open Mic Night

Patrick is late. 

Patrick is never late. David is the one who usually rolls in at 10:30 with the biggest cup of coffee he could find like the store hours are optional or something. Patrick gets in - well, David doesn’t actually know what time Patrick gets in because it is always before he does. But when David gets to the Apothecary, the lights are dark and the door is locked. David is fortuitously early, which means that the store only opens 45 minutes past the hours posted in the window. He texts Patrick as soon as he’s inside. 

**David (9:47am): Ok?**

His phone chimes a reply halfway through David trying to remember the combination to the safe so he can get out today’s float. 

**Patrick (9:52 am): OMW I’M SO SORRY! **

He considers texting back that he’s going to take this out of Patrick’s pay, but decides against it. Patrick is steadfast and reliable and will probably feel so bad about being late that he might agree to let David do it. The other thing is that even though it’s David’s name on the incorporation papers and his signature on the paychecks, as the one who handles the books, _ Patrick _ is actually the one who is paying both of them what little overhead they get from the store on the months they aren’t in the red. 

Bonus points if he gets a contrite, affectionate Patrick out of the deal. 

When Patrick gets in, _ contrite _ isn’t the word that springs to David’s mind. “God, you look terrible.” 

Patrick gives him a flat stare. He really does though: his already fair skin is practically translucent, save for a bright flush in his cheeks that clashes horribly with the bruise-like circles under his eyes. “Nice of you to notice.” 

If he looks bad, he sounds worse. His voice has that scratchy, nasally quality that turns ‘n’s into ‘b’s. David crosses the floor and frames Patrick’s face in his hands. Heat sinks into his palms, warmer than usual. “Yeah, you’re sick.” 

"You don't say." Patrick pulls away from him, turning to cough into his elbow. It's one of those wet sounding chest coughs, the kind that hurts all the way through and leaves him panting at the end.

"Mmkay, I'm gonna need you to go home now," David says. "You're patient zero and spreading this through town is very not on brand."

Patrick makes a show of looking around their empty store. “I think I’m more likely to spread it if I go home. Ray actually has business. That's the whole point of - oh, _ fuck. _Open mic night!"

"Guess we have to cancel," David says, and he should be more upset about this for Patrick's sake, but as far as he can see, there's no downside to missing Bob's slam poetry. "Tragic, really."

Patrick glares at him, clearly feeling too unwell for witty banter. "We're doing the open mic night, David. We already did all the advertising and stocked up the store. Unless you want to be in the red this month?" 

He doesn't. They're only just starting to profit. "I'm not loving this."

Patrick sighs. "It'll be fine. I'll just… we’ll push it back a day and hope my voice comes back.” 

That’s worse, really. David already isn’t married to the idea of finding out what nominal talent the people of Schitt’s Creek choose to share with the world. He’s already having visions of Roland doing stand-up. If he can’t talk Patrick out of this notion, he’d rather get it over with. “Well, you don’t have to sound great. You’re only hosting.” 

Patrick blinks at him. “I was planning on doing a song.” 

Oh thank God. If David had known that, he might have infected Patrick himself. This cold couldn’t have better timing. “That’s…” David searches for a word that doesn’t convey his horror at the thought of Patrick _ serenading _him in front of the entire town. “...sweet. Too bad about the cold.” 

Patrick isn't fooled. "You could at least pretend not to be happy about it.' 

"I did. That's what that looked like." David leans in and presses a kiss to his boyfriend's pale forehead. Patrick takes the opportunity to step in close to David, wrapping his arms around his waist and burying his hot face in David's neck. He's all contagious and germ-infested and David should be so much more grossed out than he is. Instead he smooths a hand down Patrick's spine, presses a kiss to the top of his head and says, "Go home honey. I'll take care of the store." 

“You’re the best,” Patrick mumbles into his neck.

Patrick’s fever has broken the next day, but he sounds worse. Yesterday, his voice was rough and thick. Today it is gone entirely. It sounds like sandpaper being rubbed against styrofoam, scratchy and squeaky in turn, cracking at odd moments. David spends two hours joking him for sounding like he’s going through puberty again at 31.

Patrick, in turn, keeps asking David if he wants a kiss and - _ kinda, yeah, _ but Patrick is still sick, so he dodges anytime Patrick reaches playfully for him. 

David makes runs to the cafe for tea and cracks open a jar of organic honey. Patrick nags him until he rings it up and actually pays for it and together they unpack the orders of wine and food for open mic night. They have two customers all day - well, and Twyla, who stops by to drop off a keyboard that she apparently offered Patrick for open mic night - but David honestly doesn't mind. 

As it gets close to closing, they clear a space in the back and David supervises while Patrick sets up the microphone. An acoustic guitar sits on a stand by the wall and Patrick keeps touching it, brushing his fingers along the neck, plucking strings as he passes by. 

The sixth time it happens, David says, "Should I be jealous?” 

Patrick looks sheepish and it is unbearably endearing. "I know you don’t get it, but I was really looking forward to this.” 

It’s hard to read emotion in Patrick’s voice when he sounds like a radio with a bad connection, but David sits on one of the tables. “We still need to do a sound check,” he says, and looks pointedly at the guitar. Patrick considers him for a moment, then picks it up. “Maybe don’t try to sing though.” 

So Patrick just plays, and David watches his hands as the move along the neck of the guitar, sure and swift through chord progressions, plucking strings individually. It’s soft and easy and sounds vaguely familiar, but David can’t place the song. That feeling starts bubbling up in him again, the one that should make David want to run away, but only makes him want to get closer. Patrick is holding him captive in his gaze. As the last chord fades, David wishes wildly that he could bottle this feeling and hold onto it forever. 

Then Patrick transitions easily into a bright, cheerful version of something else, and he caterwauls _ Free Falling _ into the microphone, his voice crackling and staticky and giving out entirely on the high notes. David makes a show of trying not to cringe and struggles to contain his laughter.

They finish the closing chores together. Patrick counts out the cash and puts it in the safe to deposit tomorrow while David carefully wipes dust from the shelves and sweeps. David can’t stop himself from glancing at their makeshift stage every few minutes, imagining all sorts of acts that he’s going to have to stand and look like he’s enjoying. 

Patrick catches him looking and comes over to put his hands on David's shoulders. "Listen to me: you will be okay. It's just a way to get people in the store and be a part of the community more."

David hums, unconvinced. "Do we _ want _ to be part of the community more?" 

"I do," Patrick admits. "I've been living here for almost 6 months and I still feel like an outsider.” 

If that’s true, David suspects it has more to do with Patrick’s proximity to David than it does with Patrick himself. Alexis has always been the one who can manage to make friends anywhere. David has never had the ease that comes so naturally to his sister. It occurs to him for the first time that while he may be perfectly comfortable having a social life that consists of Patrick, Stevie, Alexis, and sometimes Ted, Patrick might want more. He probably grew up in a loving home with a family that sat down to dinner together and asked about each other’s days. He probably played sports in school and had lots of friends and had maybe been in a fraternity in college - one of the serious, studious ones, because David can’t picture Patrick at a frat party. David has never considered that Patrick might be lonely, but now that he has, it doesn’t sit well with him. He deserves better. David can give him this. “Okay,” he says, shrugging. “Open mic night.” 

Patrick gives David a beatific smile. “You’re the best.” 

Hadn’t he told David the same thing yesterday? It clicks in his mind: _ that’s _ the song Patrick was playing! He has to try very hard not to be touched. 

It doesn't work. He keeps thinking about it on the way home. Patrick, wanting to fit into this town. David can't for the life of him fathom _ why _, but he does, and this open mic night is the way he’s decided to go about it. The problem is that Patrick isn’t the inaccessible one. 

David comes to a stop in the middle of the street, hesitating. Fuck. He’s going to have to do this, isn’t he? Huffing in annoyance, he turns around and goes back to the store. The keyboard is sitting out on a little stand and David eyes it with trepidation. A lifetime ago, there had been a pianist, Rene, who his parents had hired for their parties. He’d noticed David’s interest in the instrument as a kid and had stayed behind many a time while the maids cleaned, teaching David with unending patience. 

It’s been years since he’s played, but when he sits on the little stool and puts his fingers to keys, it feels a little like greeting an old friend, a little like stepping back into a world that he used to occupy. It's not the Steinway they'd had in the Toronto manor, but he fiddles with the settings until it produces a sound he likes. For long minutes he plays, coaxing out half-remembered songs and botching more than a few notes. That won’t do.

If he wants to be accessible, he needs to stick with a classic, something people will know, but it can’t be anything too complicated either, because he only has a day to practice, and if he’s going to perform, he’s going to do it well. 

David spends another hour scrolling through playlists on Spotify until he finds the right song, and then he puts his hands back on the keys and starts to rehearse. 

David comes in later than usual, sometime around eleven, courtesy of his late night. He finds Patrick in the back, going over the numbers. 

Or at least, he _ would _be going over the numbers if he wasn't dozing at his desk, his chin resting in his palm. David snaps a picture on his phone and the sound of the shutter button startles him awake. "Late night?" David teases, "should I be worried?"

Patrick scrubs his hands over his face. "Sorry," he croaks in that ruined voice of his. "This cold is kicking my ass."

David scratches blunt nails through Patrick’s short hair. “Do you want to go home?” 

Patrick lets his eyes fall closed, leaning into the touch. “No. Too much to do today.” He frowns a little. “Your hands are cold.” 

It’s not unlikely. David’s fingers and toes are always cold. He thinks Patrick might be a little warm though. “Mmkay. I think maybe you should.” 

Patrick shakes his head and gets up, hunting down the first aid kit he put under the register after David cut himself trying to clean up a broken wine bottle. There are two DayQuil tablets left and Patrick takes them both. “You keep trying to get rid of me. Should _ I _ be worried?” 

“Fine then. Work yourself into a coma,” David huffs. “Leave me with just a store to run and my memories of you.” 

Patrick gives him a concerned look, eyes alight with humor. “How will you survive?” 

“Gracefully,” David assures him. 

“Y’know, I’ve noticed your stoicism. It’s remarkable, really.” 

“Mm.” Patrick shivers and David drops the levity. “Are you sure you’re okay?” 

“It’s just a cold, David. I’m fine.” 

And for a couple of hours, he is. The store gets actually busy for once. Mostly people meandering in to ask about tonight, but David’s fine with that as long as they’re buying things. He parks Patrick behind the register and focuses on being pleasant, which is not an easy task when Roland is in the store talking about doing impressions. Between customers, David makes runs for coffee and tea and they finalize the preparations for open mic night. David puts hors d'oeuvres out on trays and Patrick transforms the register into a bar. 

They’re not counting days or hours until the event anymore. They’re counting minutes, and as much as David is determined to do this for Patrick, he’s got a knot of dread somewhere in his gut that’s just getting bigger and harder to live with. He turns to tell Patrick _ again _ how much he doesn’t love this idea, but the words catch in his throat. Patrick is rolling his sleeves down, visibly shivering. There’s a sheen of sweat around his hairline and what little color he’s had in his face is gone. David joins him behind the counter and presses the heel of his palm to Patrick’s forehead. “Oh, wow. Honey, you’re _ really _ hot.” 

Patrick snuggles in against David, and it’s a little like hugging a furnace. “I might have overdone it yesterday,” Patrick admits, his voice muffled against David’s shoulder. 

“You’re shivering,” David tells him. 

“M’cold,” Patrick mumbles. 

“Baby, I really think you should go home.” 

Patrick shakes his head. “I can’t. Open Mic Night starts in like 20 minutes.”

David cringes a little. “Since you’re… indisposed, I could… swallow this particular pill on your behalf.” Speaking of pills, don’t they have cold medication in the back? He’ll have to check. 

Patrick tightens his arms around David’s waist, “Then I’m definitely sticking around.” A full body chill runs through him and he snuggles even closer, seeking warmth. 

“Here, hold on,” David pulls out of Patrick’s grip to pull off his sweater, leaving him in just a black and white Balenciaga tee. The sweater is a Namacheko crocheted knit that Stevie once referred to as a step away from a blanket, and he offers it to Patrick now. “At least put this on. It will help.” 

They have just enough time for David to run to the cafe and get another cup of tea before they’re scheduled to start, and the store is filling up. David deposits the tea in Patrick’s hands and goes into the back. They _ don’t _sell cold medicine, but they do have Tylenol, which he’s pretty sure is a fever reducer, so he brings it to the front for Patrick. His boyfriend is loitering near the stage, the sleeves of David’s sweater rolled up enough that he can get his hands around his tea. “Are you sure you want to do this?” Patrick asks. 

He isn’t, but he hands Patrick the medication anyway. “You’ll get germs all over the microphone,” he says. David braces himself and walks onstage, very deliberately avoiding his mother’s eye. “Hi. Patrick and I want to thank everybody for coming to Open Mic Night. I’m gonna go ahead and get this started.” 

It takes him a minute. He fiddles with the microphone stand until he gets it into position, fumbling and struggling. A low rumble of laughter rolls through the room. Why did he agree to do this again? Movement catches his attention. Patrick is holding back a smile, pointing subtly to the swivel that he’s looking for. Oh. Right. Finally he gets it where it needs to be and sits down at the keyboard, placing his hands and playing an experimental chord. 

He seeks out Patrick again, needing the reminder that he can do this. Patrick shuffles a little closer to the stage, pale and sick and looking way too good in David’s sweater, which is oversized on David and huge on Patrick. The delight on Patrick’s face makes this whole thing worth it. David looks down at his hands and begins to play. 

It’s an old Billy Joel song, slow and simple, with a melody that’s within David’s range. He’s not an amazing singer, but a tune like this, he can handle. 

_ “In every heart, there is a room, _  
_ A sanctuary safe and strong _  
_ To heal the wounds from lovers past _  
_ Until a new one comes along.” _

He is definitely not going to look at his mother. He doesn’t need to see the abject horror on her face. 

_ “I spoke to you in cautious tones _  
_ You answered me with no pretense _  
_ And still I feel I said too much _  
_ My silence is my self defense.” _

When he picked this song last night, he chose it because it was easy enough to play and sing that he could get it down in one night. Now, with Patrick standing there, he’s noticing that the lyrics are a little too real, and he keeps his eyes on his hands. It’s a bad habit that Rene had never been able to break him of. 

_ “And every time I've held a rose _  
_ It seems I only felt the thorns _  
_ And so it goes, and so it goes _ _  
And so will you soon I suppose.” _

That feels a little on the nose. David has had more relationships fail than most people have at all. He’s gotten better at trying not to catastrophize around Patrick about the day that this relationship ends, but it’s coming. He knows that it is. 

And yet. 

_ “But if my silence made you leave _  
_ Then that would be my worst mistake _  
_So I will share this room with you _  
_ And you can have this heart to break.” _

Don’t look at Patrick. Don’t look at Patrick. Don’t look at Patrick. 

_ “And this is why my eyes are closed _  
_ It's just as well for all I've seen _  
_And so it goes, and so it goes _  
_ And you're the only one who knows.” _

He looks at Patrick.

What he sees there makes his fingers stutter on the keys. Patrick isn’t like David. He’s open and honest and no one has ever looked at David the way Patrick is looking at him now. It’s how David has always wanted someone to look at him, like Patrick is feeling that same thing that keeps trying to boil over in David, and it’s just _ there _, open and raw and David can’t tear his eyes away. Just falls helplessly, hopelessly into Patrick’s gaze. 

_ “So I would choose to be with you _  
_ That's if the choice were mine to make _  
_But you can make decisions too _  
_ And you can have this heart to break.” _

He draws the song to a close with no flourish, too caught up in Patrick to pay attention to it. The smattering of applause he gets drags him back to reality and he clears his throat and readjusts the microphone, gracefully this time - thank God. He smiles his appreciation, announces Bob and his slam poetry, and hightails it offstage. Patrick is in his arms the moment he steps down, wrapping David into a hug. “Thank you,” he whispers, and David thinks he might sound a little bit choked up. 

_ I meant it _, his mind supplies, but that’s too heavy. Too much, too fast, too terrifying. So he smooths a hand down Patrick’s spine and goes, “Well, you’re sick.” 

Two days later, David is sniffly and miserable behind the register, but Patrick is engrossed in helping Jocelyn choose candles while Twyla browses their bath bomb selection and he thinks it was definitely worth it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to just go for it, partly because I felt like this chapter came out in a way that I could be satisfied with and partly because I love to write introspection and somewhat dark themes. This one came out fluffy AF because I'm obsessed with a snuggly, sick Patrick wearing David's sweater. The next one will be a role reversal on The Barbeque, which I have an idea I love for and am trying to make work. 
> 
> The song is called 'And So It Goes' and it is beautiful. I don't love writing song!fic, but it was kind of inevitable for this chapter. Angst is coming up. Thanks for all the support!


	4. I Need Time

Patrick is having a very weird morning. He woke up to a text from Rachel saying that she’s coming to visit. He doesn’t know how to explain to David that he has an ex-fiancee who he hasn’t mentioned his current boyfriend to without also having to explain that it’s because he hasn’t mentioned said boyfriend to his parents. 

David is already waiting for the other shoe to drop and he’s pretty sure that telling him that Patrick was almost married and is keeping him a secret from his family isn’t going to help. Patrick already knows that David is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, but David needs a little more convincing, a little more security. Patrick wants to provide that, and he’s _ going _ to tell his parents. He just doesn’t know how. 

He’s on his way to the cafe, getting nowhere going over that train of thought in his head when Roland falls into step beside him. “I wasn’t going to say anything, but-” he elbows Patrick. “You lucky dog!” 

Patrick is lost. “Thanks?” He doesn’t need to say anything else, he knows. Roland can’t be pushed or cajoled into clarifying before he’s good and ready, but he’s also entirely incapable of holding himself back, so he’ll get around to explaining his meaning whether Patrick asks or not. 

Roland whistles low. “I mean, he’s not _ my _ type, of course, but I admire his style. Shibari is hard to do right.”

Patrick doesn’t get around to asking what ‘Shibari’ is because Jocelyn links her arm through her husband’s. “Leave him alone, Rollie. Let them have their fun.” She tows him away, giving Patrick a suggestive wink over her shoulder that he does nothing to assuage his confusion.

He could Google it, but something tells him that’s a dark path he doesn’t want to tread. He shakes it off. God, this is a mess. Rachel’s timing is terrible. What is he going to do? Apparently his thoughts are written all over his face because when he gets to the cafe, Twyla gives him a sympathetic look. “I know the name of a great support group,” she offers before he can even order his tea. “My aunt and uncle set my cousin up with one after he got involved as a runner for the mafia. I can write it down for you if you want.” 

“Um,” Patrick says, “I think I’ll just take a chai, but thanks.” 

Gwen leans over in her chair to pat his arm. “Don’t listen to her, honey. You don’t have anything to worry about.” 

He’s starting to think he might, actually. What is going on? Nails dig into his arms and he finds himself bodily turned around by Mrs. Rose. She’s stronger than she looks. “Dear Pat,” she says, lavishly serious, “You mustn’t worry about him.” 

“Is David okay?” He can’t think of any other ‘him’ she would be reassuring him about. He doesn’t correct his name. She’s only just now starting to get it right consistently. He’ll take ‘Pat’ over ‘Paxton’ or ‘Peter’ or, inexplicably that one time, ‘Raul.’

She pats his cheek. “You’re sweet, but I believe I just told you not to worry. This family has endured hardships before and this too shall pass.” She says it like it’s supposed to be rousing, and now he really is starting to worry, but she plows on before he can speak. “The old adage-” she pronounces it ‘a-dah-jay’ - “is correct. A photograph is worth a thousand words. But,” she gives him a look that he thinks is supposed to be shrewd, “_ we _, sweet Pat, choose what those words mean.” 

“Oh, I’m sure,” he agrees. “There’s just one thing that’s got me tripped up: what exactly happened to David?” 

Her expression freezes. It would be comical if not for the circumstances, whatever they are. Patrick has picked up that she’s trying to do damage control that somehow involves David, which is enough to make him nervous. Had Rachel gotten here early and somehow crossed his path? “It’s nothing, really,” she says, affecting a little laugh. “Just a chance encounter with an old friend. Nothing you need concern yourself with. Now I’m afraid I have to go. Council business. I’m positively deluged by meetings.”

Patrick wouldn’t go so far as to say that she ran out of the cafe, but it’s a close thing. His tea is on the counter, and he gives Twyla three dollars and calls David. It rings once, then goes to voicemail. He tries Stevie next, and she picks up on the second ring. “Hey.” 

“Is David okay?” 

He can practically hear her wince.”Ran into Mrs. Rose, did you?” 

“For all the good it did me,” Patrick grumbles. “She realized I didn’t know what she was talking about and I couldn’t get anything out of her. What happened?” 

“One of his exes made an exhibit of pictures of David. They’re… eye opening.” 

“Poor David. Clothed?”

“That depends. How would you categorize underwear?” 

Oh God. “Alright. I’m gonna try calling him again.” 

“Good luck. He’s locked himself in his room.” 

Apparently he’s not even making an exception for Patrick. David rejects the call again. 

**Patrick (8:29 am): **Talk to me 

**David (8:42 am): **Did you look them up?

**Patrick (8:43 am): **No

**David (8:51 am): **You might be the only one in SC who hasn’t. Get it over with. 

**Patrick (852 am): **Can I come over?

**David (9:15 am): **After

**David (9:16 am): **If you still want to.

Jesus, they must be some pictures. 

A quick Google search of ‘David Rose photography exhibit’ is all he needs to find the article. 

** _Former Gallerist Turned Exhibit in Sensual New Series_ **

_ The big name in the art scene today is David Rose. Some may remember Rose as an up-and-coming New York Gallerist and socialite, son of video magnate Johnny Rose, formerly of Rose Video. Rose is years out of the spotlight, but his reputation for being particular and difficult to work with is "well-earned," says photographer Sebastien Raine. _

_ Raine’s exhibit celebrates expression and sensuality.’ According to the artist, the shots were taken years ago, all except the most recent one. We got a few minutes with Raine at the exhibit’s opening. _

_ Q: What inspired this series? _

_ A: Oh, well, David and I have a bit of a history. I hadn’t seen him for years until I got in touch with his mother. We were setting up to do a series together and when I went to where the Roses are staying, our paths crossed again. It made me start thinking of the cycle of old things becoming new again. We see it all the time in fashion trends, and I thought, why not art? _

_ Q: That's exciting. We haven't seen Moira Rose much since _ Sunrise Bay. _ Any hints on when this series will come out? _

_ A: Oh. (laughs) That’s a little complicated. David actually destroyed the footage. _

_ Q: So the history there isn’t all good? _

_ A: It’s not like that. David agreed to let me release these pictures to make it up to me, which was really nice of him. These are some of my favorite shots I’ve ever taken, and I’ve wanted to share them with the world for a long time. _

_ Q: Looking at David’s history, it doesn’t seem like something he would mind too much. Art is art, right? _

_ A: David is a bit of a special case. He’s an artist too, even if his medium is mood and decor. We tend to be a picky bunch. Still, it was a really thoughtful gesture on his part. That’s why I wanted to hold the exhibit here. It used to be David’s gallery, and it’s where we met and where my photography really got noticed for the first time. I thought it would be a great way to show my gratitude. _

_ We’re certainly glad for that. Raine’s exhibit will be on display for the rest of the month at the Whitney Museum. _

It’s also on display on Sebastien Raine’s website. There's really no way to describe it other than as a BDSM photoshoot. The pictures are all in black and white and feature David wearing only a pair of boxer briefs, tied up in dark rope. Each picture features a different configuration of patterns and knots, drawing attention to specific features. In the first one, David is looking over his shoulder, his arms bound behind his back in a way that makes the muscles in his shoulders bunch together. The next one has rope running between his shoulder blades, kneeling on the ground with his knees spread wide. 

They only get worse from there. Knots all the way down his thigh, connected to a rope that pulls up and out of frame, so that David’s shoulders are on the ground, but his back and hips are being pulled into the air. David, suspended upside down entirely off the ground, one long leg tied calf to thigh, keeping it bent, the other ankle bound to his hands, pulled behind his back at an extreme angle. 

David, a jumble of rope around his hips, draping from his leg, his body pulled into a severe bridge, his back arched and his arms and legs loose and languid, trailing down to the ground, his expression dazed and unfocused. 

They all look...wrong. It’s very clearly David, but it’s a different David than the one that Patrick knows. He’s at least 30 pounds lighter in these pictures, unhealthy skinny. He’s clean shaven and there’s no hair on his chest to hide the way his ribs and collarbone press against his skin. In a few of the pictures, he’s trying to smolder at the camera, but mostly he just looks strung out. He looks like a junkie. 

The last picture is different from the rest in every possible way. David is fully naked, his modestly protected only by a thin sheet slung low over his hips. It’s in full color and grainy, like it was taken with a cell phone camera rather than a professional one, but that only means that Patrick can see the flush in David’s olive skin, the red welts left by blunt nails scratching through his black chest hair, the purple brown of dark hickeys marching along his collarbone. Patrick can also see the dark wood paneling on the walls and the muddy beige comforter kicked down by David’s curled toes. 

Gone is the waxed, skeletal body of the earlier pictures. Patrick recognizes this David, and the motel room around him. This picture is recent. 

Patrick has seen this David before, tangled in his own sheets. What the fuck? He can’t make the rest of the pictures mesh with this one in his mind. He can’t wrap his head around David letting someone take the pictures in the first place, let alone coming back for more. 

David has more bad ex stories than anyone Patrick knows. He’s said before that he wants nothing to do with anyone from his old life, but there is literal photo evidence that says otherwise. Evidence that he apparently chose to share with the world. Patrick scrolls through the pictures again, taking in that unnatural skinniness, the hollows of David’s cheeks, the darkness under his eyes. It seems like David hasn’t told him everything. He definitely left out mentioning whatever he was on in these pictures. 

This, he definitely needs to talk about. Ronnie snickers when he passes her, and Patrick’s face burns. God, he hadn’t even considered that. Everyone in town knows about this photoshoot and knows that David and Patrick are together. What conclusions are they drawing? Why would David do this?

His face feels like it’s aflame by the time he reaches the motel, knocking on the door harder than strictly necessary.David lets him into the room and crosses his arms like he’s waiting for something. For the first time in Patrick’s memory, he can’t read David’s expression. He didn’t know David _ could _ guard his emotions. 

“When?” Patrick asks. 

“Five months ago.” 

Patrick knows David didn’t cheat on him. Knows that David knows what it feels like and would never do it to Patrick, but he still breathes out a sigh that feels like relief. “I’m trying to understand, David, but I’m gonna need more.” 

David scoffs. “I think that interview summed it up pretty nicely.” 

It’s a non-answer, and that’s not what Patrick needs right now. He starts with something he knows. “You slept with him.” 

“Yes.” 

“Why?” He doesn’t know exactly what he’s asking. _ Why did you fuck him _ , maybe, or _ why would you tell him it was okay to release those pictures. _ Mostly, he thinks it’s just _ why didn’t you tell me? _

“He had pictures of my mother. _ Here , _walking around town. I needed the memory card.” 

“And of course he hid it in his underwear," Patrick says, unable to resist pointing out how ridiculous that sounds. David goes utterly still. Patrick asks, “You looked fucked up in those pictures. Were you?” 

“Yes.” 

“On?” Patrick prompts. 

David throws his hands up. “I don’t know! A cocktail of things. Pills, mostly, a couple lines.” 

Narcotics and cocaine. David has _ definitely _ never mentioned this part of his past. Patrick barrels on. “Were you careful? Did you use a condom?” David’s expression is answer enough. “Jesus Christ, David!” 

It’s David’s breaking point. “I’m sorry, did you come here to interrogate me?” 

“Apparently! Did you get tested?” Again, David doesn’t answer, which is answer enough. “Are you _ serious?! _What am I supposed to do with that?” It doesn't matter that David is always careful with Patrick. He makes a mental note to make an appointment immediately. 

“You do _ not _ get to judge me for this!” David hisses, “It’s not your business who I used to fuck. I don’t owe you anything!” 

Oh. 

Patrick finds himself speechless, which has never happened to him before. David is breathing hard, staring at him, and the silence stretches out longer and longer, well past uncomfortable into painful. Finally, Patrick finds words. “You didn’t even tell me about this. Because that’s how you feel? You owe me nothing at all?” 

“No! I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to see that side of me,” David reaches for him. Patrick steps back. “I didn’t mean-” 

“I know what you meant,” Patrick interrupts. He can’t hear anything else. If he does, he’s afraid he may fly apart. “You made your feelings on the matter pretty clear. It’s not my business what you do, so - okay. Fine.” 

“Let me explain.” 

Patrick shakes his head. “I think the article summed it up pretty nicely,” he says, and relents when David winces. “I think I need some time. With this.” 

David crosses his arms over his chest, his expression going unreadable again. “Okay.” Patrick nods, wanting to say more, but at a loss for words. He nods again and leaves, closing the door to the room behind him. He only makes it a few steps away before he sags against the wall, closing his eyes and dragging in a breath that hitches in his throat. 

He has no way of knowing that, safe in the confines of the motel room, David is doing the same.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could have made the entirety of this chapter Moira Rose trying to comfort a bewildered Patrick and would have been perfectly happy with the results. 
> 
> The rest of it was far more difficult. We know that David has a terrible relationship history, so there would be no ex-fiance(e)s to bring into the mix. As a result, I had to try to focus on the feelings behind the Barbeque episode and recreate them differently. Patrick had to be the one who needed time and David had to feel guilty, so it turned into this. Please don’t be too hard on Patrick in this chapter. The struggle of knowing that someone you love did something you think is a terrible decision is real, so I decided to use that as the catalyst for the fight to hurt this sweet little button’s feelings, and they both had to be a little broken at the end of it.


	5. Olive Branch Part 1

Patrick picks Rachel up from the airport in Elmdale. He tells himself that it’s because he has nothing better to do today, but it feels like a lie, even in his mind. When he got home yesterday, Ray, always eager to help and completely boundary-less, launched into a story about the time that Roland and Jocelyn’s sex tape had gotten mixed in with the motel’s movie collection. 

The couple who was there for a photoshoot had been quick to chime in, assuring him that David’s pictures weren’t nearly as disturbing. 

Patrick had filled his pack and gone hiking, needing to think and knowing that the only person he was likely to encounter on the trails was Mutt Schitt. Rattlesnake Point failed to offer him it’s usual clarity, so he’d explored new trails, wandering along deer paths and through brambles. It had helped, but only because he stayed out past sundown and the town was dark by the time he got back. 

When he passed into phone range, a series of texts popped up on his phone. 

**David (1:26 pm): ** I need to talk to you.

**David (2:42 pm): ** Patrick, please. 

**David (7:19pm): ** Yuo dont know waht happ end.

**David (7:36 pm): ** I never siad he could.

**David (8:31 pm): ** Call my

**David (8:32 pm): ** Please

**David (8:33 pm): ** Me*

**Stevie (10:57 pm): ** U suck. 

Waiting by the baggage claim, Patrick looks at the texts again, clicks into the dialogue box to type a reply, and hesitates. Everything he can think of to say sounds wrong, and he can’t figure out how to turn what he’s feeling into words. David had stood there and basically said Patrick had no claim on him. After letting Patrick be involved in nearly every part of his life, he’d said  _ “I don’t owe you anything _ .” 

Patrick doesn’t know what to do with that. 

He catches a glimpse of red hair and Rachel is in his arms, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her face in his shirt. Long years of habit have him hugging her back, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo. She fits perfectly against him, the crown of her head tucked under his chin, her small frame fitting against his chest. It’s never felt quite right to him before. Now it just feels wrong. He shouldn’t be doing this. She’s here for something that he can’t give her, and it’s unfair of him to sink into the comfort she’s offering. 

He can’t help it. Rachel is warm and familiar, and there’s fifteen years of history between them. She knows him better than almost anyone, and right now, he needs that. They hug for longer than is strictly necessary, and then she looks up at him with a tentative smile. ‘I missed you.” 

All at once, Patrick understands how he let himself fall back into it time and again. Put simply: he loves her. He did then and he does now. It’s just that he has always been trying to color it through a romantic lens that never quite fit it. He wants to tell her that he’s missed her too, but he knows that what she’s saying is different than what he means, so he offers up another truth. “It’s good to see you again Rachel.” She smiles, wide and bright, and he doesn’t miss the way her eyes flick down to his mouth. She doesn’t try to kiss him. She won’t, yet. He knows the steps to this dance. They’ll get lunch, spend the day catching up, and then devolve into nostalgia, telling each other stories they were both there for, laughing anew at old jokes. They’ll end up talking until it gets late and they decide to get dinner. Then she’ll go in for the kill, reminiscing about the good times, of which there are many, and hashing out the fights, soothing any lingering hurt feelings. Only then will she kiss him. In the past, Patrick has always convinced himself back to her side, telling himself that this time will be different, that they can make it work. They can’t. Finally, he understands why. He grabs her bag for her, the same way he always does. “Let’s get lunch. We’ve got a lot to talk about.” 

She starts the dance on the way to the restaurant, telling him about what he’s missed. She’s gotten a promotion at her marketing firm. Claire and Tyler, old mutual friends, are apparently having a baby in a few months. Her brother is back in school getting her master’s. He pulls into the parking lot of a Cajun restaurant, remembers he took David to dinner there about a month ago, then pulls back out and goes to a little sandwich shop down the street instead. Rachel is still updating him, but he doesn’t hear her. He’s suddenly very aware of his phone in his pocket, of the unanswered texts from David.  _ I need to talk to you. Patrick, please.  _

Rachel opening the car door drags him back to the now. He tries to put it out of his mind as they get a table, tries to welcome the distraction of Rachel. God, he still hasn’t told David about her. 

But David had kept secrets too.

_ I don’t owe you anything _ . 

Here Patrick has been, trying to figure out how to break this news to David as gently as he could. Meanwhile David has those photos floating around the internet for all the world to see, taking risks with his body and his health, and  _ Patrick’s _ by extension. 

“Patrick?” Rachel leans across the table to take his hand, and it makes him jump. “Where did you go?” 

He pulls his hand away from hers, scrubs it over his face. “I’m sorry. I’m not great company today. I’ve had a bit of a rough time lately.” 

“Well that’s what happens when you move hours away from home,” she teases gently. “I had brunch with Marcy a couple weeks ago. She misses you.” 

“Wow,” Patrick says, “bringing my mother into this? Low blow.” There’s no heat in hit. He knows his parents miss him. He misses them too. It’s just, well...

David. 

“Do you want to talk about it?” Rachel asks. 

He does. More than that, he realizes, he  _ needs _ to, and he owes it to Rachel to explain. Why it never worked, no matter how hard they tried, why this grand gesture of hers is ultimately pointless. Why thiscan’t be like it has been every other time. He steels himself. “I know why you’re here.” 

“I figured you did,” she says, her voice wry. “I don’t think either of us can shock the other at this point.” 

It would be funny if he wasn’t so afraid. “I don’t know about that.” 

“Oh.” Rachel tries to hide the hurt in her voice, but he knows her too well to miss it. “There’s someone else, isn’t there?”

“There was,” he says. “I don’t know if there still is.” 

“Wow,” she says, and this time that hurt is right on the surface, there for him to see. “She must really be something.”

“He,” Patrick corrects, talking to his burger and fries. Food has never seemed so unappetizing. He realizes his hands are shaking and tucks them into his lap, takes a deep breath, then another.“I’m gay.” 

It’s the first time he’s ever actually said it out loud. He’s thought it plenty of times, but when he started dating David, everyone in Schitt’s Creek just… accepted it. There’d been no need. It feels a little like the night David kissed him for the first time. A little scary, but mostly freeing,  _ right _ . He squares his shoulders, sits up a little straighter, and meets Rachel’s eyes. She’s frowning a little, shaking her head. “But…” she trails off. Patrick remembers when he first started figuring it out, how he matched the knowledge to the parts of their relationship that had never worked. It’s interesting to watch Rachel’s face as she fits those same puzzle pieces together now, understanding dawning the same way it had for him. “Oh my God.” 

“Yeah,” he laughs a little, nervously. “I’m sorry you came all the way out here like this, but it’s over, Rachel. For real this time.”

She nods, blinking at the ceiling. “I want to be so mad at you right now,” she whispers. 

“I’m sorry.” 

She stands up. “I’ll be right back.” 

He doesn’t chase after her. She grew up with two older brothers and hates letting anyone see her cry. What would he say, anyway? Instead, he checks his phone. There’s a new text waiting for him. 

**David (1:02 pm):** How do I use this thing?

There’s a picture attached of Patrick’s computer in the back, open to the spreadsheet he uses to balance the books and track their inventory. It’s pretty simple, but Patrick spent hours doing those formulas, and David has no idea what he’s doing. He doesn’t mind teaching him, but he’d much rather do it in person than over text. 

**Patrick (1:17 pm): ** Why?

**David (1:19 pm): ** To maintain it?

**Patrick (1:20 pm):** Just save the receipts. I’ll update later.

**David (1:26 pm):** ?

**David (1:27 pm): ** Ray said you went to the airport. 

Jesus. David thinks he’s  _ leaving _ . 

**Patrick (1:28 pm): ** Just to pick up a friend. Save the receipts. I’ll take care of it when I come back. 

**David (1:32 pm): ** Ok. 

**David (1:33 pm): ** Can we talk? 

He’s not sure what to say. They’re going to talk, absolutely, but he doesn’t know if he’s ready to have that conversation yet. He still hasn’t decided what he feels about this whole thing. If they talk, he’ll forgive David. There isn’t much he won’t forgive David for, and he doesn’t know if he’s ready to do that. 

He’s spared from answering by the return of Rachel. Her eyes are red and puffy, but she’s regained her composure, and smiles at him when she slides into the seat opposite him.”I’ve decided something.” 

“Oh?”

She nods. “I’m happy for you.” Oh. That’s not the reaction he was expecting. “And I want you to be happy. You deserve that.” She stretches her hand out across the table, palm up. Patrick recognizes the invitation and takes her hand, unspeakably grateful for that small kindness. 

“Thank you.” His voice cracks a little, and he remembers all over again why he loves her. He has to wait a minute to get himself under control before he adds, “You do too, you know.” 

Her answering smile is warm and sincere. “Thanks.” 

He squeezes her hand. “Um, the thing is, I haven’t told my parents yet.” 

“They won’t hear it from me,” she promises, “but you should. When you’re ready. How serious are things with this guy anyway?” 

_ I love him _ , he thinks, but he isn’t going to tell Rachel before he tells David. He’s not even sure what he’s going to do about that. Patrick sighs. “Complicated.” 

“How complicated?” He tells her. It might be a little cruel to put her in this position, but he doesn’t know who else to talk to. He explains the pictures, the fight, the texts. Rachel, to her credit, just listens, nodding along. When he finishes the story, she takes the time she needs to consider her answer before she speaks. Finally, she says, “That’s… a lot. I can see why you’re mad.” 

“The thing is, I’m not. Or, I don’t think I am. I just… I don’t know  _ what _ to think,” he sighs. “I know David, but this? I don’t know what to do with this.” 

“I can see that. You’ve always been responsible. Steady.” 

“Are you calling me boring?” 

She laughs. “No, I’m calling you reliable. Leaving was the most un-Patrick-like you thing you’ve ever done. Something like this? I can see why it would freak you out.” She looks at their hands, turning his over to study the guitar calluses there. “So you have to decide if this is something you can live with.” 

The problem is that he doesn’t know the answer to that. Instead he just nods and lets her steer the conversation to safer subjects. They do end up reminiscing about old times, but there’s an air of finality to it that feels a bit like closure. Rachel reschedules her flight back and he ends up taking her straight back to the airport, pulling up outside departing flights. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I feel like I should have realized this sooner. I think I could have saved us both some heartache.” 

“Don’t you dare,” she leans over and kisses his cheek. “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t think that everything we went through was worth it.” 

“Still.” He thinks she may be his best friend, and he’s going to miss that. 

Rachel knows him well enough that she must read it on his face, because she says, “Text me this time, okay?” 

“I will. You too. I want pictures when Claire and Tyler’s son is born.” 

“I can do that. Come home to visit.”

She hugs him one more time and that’s that. He pulls away from the curb feeling melancholy and liberated at the same time. ‘Come home,’ she’d said. It’s not home anymore. He’d left behind his family, a good job, and a lifetime of  _ almost _ , traded it in for Schitt’s Creek and a start-up and David, and he knows which he prefers. He thinks he understands what she meant about everything being worth it. He takes advantage of a red light to text David.

**Patrick (2:44 pm): ** I’m on my way home. We’ll talk when I get there. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I really want to explore the emotions of both David and Patrick with this, so Patrick for now, and David will come soon. My thanks to the Rosebudd for your support and love!


	6. Olive Branch Part 2

The airport. 

Ray had come into the store to pick up vanilla bean and cinnamon candles for an open house and casually dropped  _ that _ news on David. 

Right now, Patrick is on his way to the airport. 

David has always known this was coming, and he’s always known that it was going to hurt when it finally did.

He never anticipated this. 

The sign on the door is flipped to closed, and David is standing behind the cash, hands braced on the counter, trying to remember how to breathe. 

Alexis has the car today, and she had mentioned something about Ted and bagels, which means she’s probably at the vet clinic right now. It’s five minutes away. Seven to get the car. Ten if she argues with him about it. Thirty minutes to Elmdale. How long does it take to get through security at the airport? Twenty minutes? Thirty? If he hurries, if he leaves  _ now _ , he might-

Might  _ what? _ Show up in time for some Grand Romantic Gesture? Convince Patrick to stay? 

David knows better. He’s learned that lesson a hundred times over. Patrick isn’t like David (Patrick isn’t like anyone) who can be convinced back to the side of someone who is objectively terrible for him. That’s what caused this whole problem in the first place. Sebastien Raine, some  _ very _ unfortunate pictures, and one night of mediocre sex. 

David opens his phone to the string of increasingly drunk, unanswered text messages. He types out  _ Don't leave, _ but it’s too dramatic. He tries  _ I’m sorry _ , but it’s not enough. He writes  _ So you're running away,  _ but it's too confrontational. 

He thinks about typing  _ I love you _ , but doesn’t because  _ Jesus Christ _ , where had _ that  _ come from? 

Does he? 

He doesn’t know. He knows he  _ could _ , which is the closest he’s ever gotten, but he’s not brave the way Patrick is. He never has been, and it doesn’t matter now. Best not to examine that too closely. 

Patrick is practical and judicious, so if he’s decided to leave, he’s thought it through, and David has nothing to offer that will change his mind. Truth be told, he’s never known what he had to offer Patrick in the first place. 

He knows he’s good-looking, even if all the toner in the world isn’t enough to shrink the pores on the end of his nose and he’s about fifteen pounds heavier than he’d like to be. He knows what else he is too: overdramatic. Needy. Demanding. Insecure. A diva. Too much, and not in a good way. David has an endless litany of things he's been told he is. He made a two page spread of them in a bullet journal when he was twenty eight after he'd spent two months in the Cote d'Azur with Leonette. It had burned hot and fast, like most of his relationships, until she'd told him that he didn't have enough to offer to be such a prima donna and left him standing on a pier in Cannes. 

Patrick is smart and funny and  _ nice _ , and he’s confident in who he is and deserves someone who is generally better than David. A better person; someone who comes without baggage and can express genuine human emotions and who is brave like Patrick is. 

He hopes that Patrick finds that guy, and that David never  _ ever  _ meets him. 

He probably won’t. Patrick will go home and go on with his life, and David will become a memory, a story he tells his friends and future boyfriends. 

And David will be here, still stuck in this town that was starting to become bearable, with his store that was  _ theirs _ and his life that no longer involves Patrick. 

He knows he can make it through this. He's done it before. (No he hasn't, never like this.) 

He washes his face with a tea tree scrub from a new vendor, dabs eucalyptus serum under his eyes to reduce puffiness, and flips the sign back to 'open.' 

Then he collects the receipts from this week's sales and brings them to the office. 

This room is all Patrick: binders with neat color-coded tabs and a tidy desk with a sensible chair and a computer. He pulls up Excel and it's easy to find everything. All the spreadsheets are organized into neat little folders. David clicks into 'Sales,'opens the file labeled 'March_2018,' and eyes the neat date-stamped rows and columns filled with numbers that mean nothing to him. 

He spends five minutes clicking into boxes as though that will somehow help him understand what it all means. He could possibly reverse-engineer it if he had the receipts already entered for the month, but he's pretty sure Patrick doesn't keep them. 

_ Didn't _ .

Past tense. 

David doesn’t know what he’s doing here. This isn’t his domain. He makes the front-end decisions: what to order, which vendors to sign up, where to put everything, how to decorate. This, the backroom, is so heavily Patrick’s that David kind of wants to run or push the binders off the table or wipe the hard drive or something. He never wants to leave. He wishes fervently that he’d paid more attention the twenty or so times Patrick tried to explain how all the spreadsheets worked. He wishes Patrick were here even more fervently. He hopes he never sees Patrick again.

He knows that he needs guidance, so he snaps a picture of the spreadsheet and texts it to Patrick. 

**David (1:02 pm):** How do I use this thing?

He waits, staring at his phone. A minute passes. Two. Five. 

He doesn’t know what he expected. 

All at once, this little office is too much. It’s suffocating, and David needs to leave. The juxtaposition of Patrick’s space without Patrick in it is unbearable and David makes it just past the curtain, yanking it closed behind him so hard that two of the hooks pop off the rod. The floor hasn’t been swept today and it’s probably dirty and David is wearing $3000 pants and he sits on the floor behind the counter and covers his face with his hands. 

He’s already washed his face, applied moisturizer and under eye serum and it was a pointless endeavor. He’s cried over breakups before. Like, ugly cried and eaten whole pizzas and mall pretzels and once or twice an entire blueberry cobbler. 

David has never been less hungry in his life. He curls in on himself like he can hold all of his damaged pieces together and tries to be quiet because the sign is flipped to open and if someone comes in, he doesn’t want them to hear him. He doesn’t want it to get around town that he fucked everything up and ruined it with Patrick and then hid in his store fucking  _ sobbing _ because Patrick finally realized he deserves better. 

His phone beeps on the floor beside him and David wants to throw it. He doesn’t need Alexis trying to make him feel better or Stevie being angry at Patrick. 

It isn’t Alexis or Stevie. 

**Patrick (1:17 pm): ** Why?

David stares at Patrick’s message. Patrick asked him the same thing yesterday.  _ Why?  _ He wants to let the whole story bleed out of him in text form, sent to Patrick’s phone. He wants to say all the things that he didn’t yesterday. 

It won’t change anything, so he doesn’t. 

**David (1:19 pm): ** To maintain it?

**Patrick (1:20 pm):** Just save the receipts. I’ll update later.

David doesn’t understand. He knows that Patrick keeps backup copies on his laptop, but does he really think that he’ll keep that up? What is David supposed to do - send him pictures of the receipts every day? 

Does he think so little of David, that he won’t just explain? Does he think that he’s going to somehow stay on the Apothecary’s payroll, doing the numbers from home? 

_ Why not? You caved in to Sebastien.  _

No. David is done feeling shame about that. That was the whole point of that night: choosing to take that power back on his terms.

Maybe Patrick needs to be reminded that  _ he’s _ the one who’s leaving. 

**David (1:26 pm):** ?

**David (1:27 pm): ** Ray said you went to the airport. 

Patrick’s response is immediate, reassuring. 

**Patrick (1:28 pm): ** Just to pick up a friend. Save the receipts. I’ll take care of it when I come back. 

He’s not leaving. 

He’s not leaving. 

_ He’s not leaving _ . 

Relief blooms through him, bright and new and beautiful, a heady, addictive thing that fills him up and spills over. David has to take a minute to compose himself before his hands are steady and his eyes clear enough to type a reply. 

**David (1:32 pm): ** Ok. 

_ He’s not leaving.  _

David takes a chance, even though he knows better. He can’t help himself. He knows now what Patrick leaving feels like, and he never wants to feel it again.

**David (1:33 pm): ** Can we talk? 

Patrick doesn’t reply. 

David breaks a little, but pulls himself back together again quicker than last time. 

Okay, so he’s coming back to Schitt’s Creek, but he’s not coming back to David. 

He can find a way to learn to survive that. He can have Before Patrick, who was funny and resourceful and maintained a careful distance. Half a Patrick is better than no Patrick, David decides. He washes his face again, moisturizes and applies more serum and cracks open a bottle of Shiraz even though it’s way too early in the day and he’s working. Fuck it. It’s his store and he needs something to self-medicate with so that when Patrick does get back, David can operate on a human level. 

He throws himself into cleaning. Sweeping, dusting, wiping down the countertops and turning everything so the pumps and labels are all facing the right way, getting through half the bottle of wine as he works. 

There’s a little bit of a rush that consists mostly of deflecting questions about the stupid exhibit and Roland revealing that he has  _ way  _ too much knowledge about Japanese rope bondage, which David never needed to know. His phone beeps again while he’s ushering the mayor out of the store. David has to duck into the back when he reads it, to clutch his phone in a too-tight grip and sit down in Patrick’s chair and cry a little and not let himself hope. 

**Patrick (2:44 pm): ** I’m on my way home. We’ll talk when I get there. 

David is in the back, applying Rose Apothecary labels to a shipment of tea that doesn’t have Cannabis as a primary ingredient when the bell rings. “David?” 

Patrick’s voice sends a swooping, giddy feeling through him. “Back here,” he calls back, his throat tight around the words. 

He focuses on the labels, making sure they’re straight and centered on the bags, and he feels like he’s going to vibrate out of his skin when Patrick steps into the back. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” David says. He doesn’t say any of the other thoughts flying through his head, iterations of the same things he’s been thinking all day, asking Patrick not to leave. He’s had some time to think about what he wants to say. He can’t fuck this up. “I did get tested.” 

“What?” 

David centers the label on the next bag, smooths it down, and sets it aside. “Not immediately after he and I… but before  _ we _ ever… I did get tested.” He peels the next label up, grabs the next bag. 

“You didn’t say that,” Patrick says, but it sounds more like a question.

He shrugs, because the truth is that he had been defensive and hurt and Patrick had never been that angry with him and David had been in high anxiety mode already and had kind of frozen and Patrick had assumed the worst about him before he could say anything, which had only made him  _ more _ defensive and hurt. He centers the label, grabs the next one. “I fucked him  _ because _ of those pictures.” 

Patrick is quiet for a long moment and David is afraid to look up, to see that anger in his face again. “Okay,” he says, tone carefully even. “I think I’m gonna need more to make sense of that one.” 

David puts a label on a bag of tea, then another one, then a third. “I… don’t remember that photoshoot. I learned those pictures existed when he developed them.” He keeps his attention on what he’s doing, moving slowly because his hands are shaking. “This last time, I wanted it to be  _ my _ choice. I wanted to be the one who used  _ him _ , and I had to get the memory card. My mom… she doesn’t deserve that. I destroyed the memory card. I  _ thought _ I made him destroy those pictures too but apparently… apparently not." 

"Jesus."

David hurries before he can get anything else out, needing him to understand. " I  _ never  _ told him he could release those. I didn't even know about the last one. I didn't notice he took it. Patrick, you-" he cuts himself off before he deteriorates into overdramatics. "I'm sorry." 

"Why didn't you tell me?"And doesn’t he have a choice of answers there? Because David knows that the more people know about him, the faster they slip away. Because he wants to be better than the person who revenge-fucks people like Sebastien. Because he never wanted Patrick to know the shallow, desperate, angry, lonely person he used to be, and the lengths he had gone to to run away from that emptiness. Because the idea of Patrick  _ pitying  _ him makes him actually nauseous. Patrick sighs, "David, you said you wanted to talk." 

David winces and busies himself with applying labels for a moment, gathering the words he needs. “It isn't just you. I've never told anyone about it. Sebastien said I 'was meant to be shared.' Turns out what he meant by that was with two of his friends. I don't remember that part either, but I know what I'm like when I'm high. I can imagine how it went down." Or how  _ he _ had, more likely. He hears Patrick suck in a breath, hears it hiss through his teeth., “The thing is, the sex, that’s the only thing I  _ don’t _ regret about that, and nobody is going to get that. It’s like... I don’t know how to explain it, so I never did.”

“Can you try?” Patrick finally moves away from the doorway. David watches out of the corner of his eye as he settles into the other chair and leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees,“Any maybe look at me?” 

Patrick is the one who can bare his soul while looking David full in the face, earnest and wide open and somehow always a little bit alight with that warm humor of his. David can barely face it half the time. He has no idea how to  _ match _ it. But Patrick asked him to try. David can try, for him. What does he have to lose at this point? “I’m… not a victim or something. I’ve woken up in strangers’ beds and couldn’t remember the sex and it never bothered me. That was never the problem. It was - an escape, sort of.” He smooths the last label down. “I don’t miss it. Maybe the clothes, and the travel, but I don’t miss my old life. I had everything, and I wasn’t happy. How do you explain that? Who’s going to get it?” 

Patrick sits in the other chair, leaning in to brace his elbows on his knees. “I think I do get it, actually.” He says, and something flashes across his face, too fast for David to read it. “David, I used to be engaged.” 

This is  _ very much  _ not the direction David was expecting this to go. He casts around for something to say, but comes up empty handed. “Oh. Um.”

Patrick continues on, speaking quickly, and now he’s the one who can’t meet David’s eyes. He keeps his gaze on his hands, folded around each other. “That’s who I went to meet today. Rachel was coming to try to work things out. We kind of have an ‘on again off again’ history.” 

It feels like standing on brittle glass, or maybe falling through it. David isn’t sure. All he knows is that he’s been waiting for this moment, and no matter how many times he tries to prepare himself for it, he’s somehow never prepared. “Oh. Well, um.” He scrambles for something to say, bears down on the part of him that wants to beg. He’s done it before and it never works. He tells himself firmly that he is  _ not _ going to cry in front of Patrick now. “Are congratulations in order?”

Patrick laughs humorlessly. “I had everything too. I wasn’t rich, but I had a good job, money saved up to buy a house. No private jets, but I was going to marry my high school sweetheart. On the outside, my life was perfect. The last time we broke up, I just picked a place on a map and moved. I didn’t even have a plan. Rachel said I’ve never done anything that was  _ less _ like me.” 

Well, it doesn’t sound like Patrick is planning on running back to her, so that’s a plus, David supposes. “Well,” he says, trying for levity, “Did Schitt’s Creek measure up to your expectations?” 

Patrick’s head comes up, and he’s looking at David like… like he  _ means _ something. “More than.” 

“Why?” He has no right to hope. He should have learned better on at least three separate occasions today. Where is this optimism coming from and how does he get rid of it? 

Patrick leans forward, his expression heartbreakingly earnest. “Because no matter how hard I tried with her, it just never felt right, and up until recently, I didn’t understand why.” He holds out his hands, palm up. “I’ve spent most of my life not knowing what ‘right’ was supposed to feel like, and then I met you, and everything changed.  _ You _ make me feel right, David.” 

Oh.  _ Oh. _ David chokes back tears, but this time, it’s relief. Maybe even happiness. This is what that feels like, right? “That is quite possibly one of the most beautiful things I've ever heard anyone say. Um, outside of the "Downton Christmas Special.” 

“It’s the truth,” Patrick says, with such sincerity that not even David can doubt him. 

“So does this mean that we… are back?” David slips his hands into Patrick’s, and for the first time, that hope he can’t squash might have something to it. 

“We’re going to talk about this more,” Patrick warns, but that humor is back in his eyes. “I learned the word ‘Shibari’ from  _ Roland,  _ and I will never be able to unlearn it.” 

That unnamed thing swells inside David’s chest again, and it is all-consuming, too big for him to contain, and it overflows as tears and the widest smile David has ever smiled. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, it's been almost a year since I've updated this. I'm sorry for making you wait for so long. I'm going to finish this, dammit. 
> 
> I wanted to include the 'You make me feel right' speech for a couple of reasons. The first is that it is the most romantic thing outside of a Downton Christmas Special. The second is that I, at 28 years old, sent a clip of this scene to my (now) girlfriend trying to explain how I felt because I'd never seriously considered the possibility that I might be a lesbian until I met her. Lemme tell ya, it hits REAL different when you realize that you're a real life Patrick.

**Author's Note:**

> Mostly a character exploration of how David and Patrick will handle stepping out of their comfort zones and how some of their big moments might look if the roles were reversed. Some dialogue stolen from the show. Hope you enjoy!


End file.
